Achill

You want to walk along the shoreline with me -- where the waves never stop crashing against the rugged, black rocks and there is a little white house, with a white fence, in the middle of nowhere. You want to place me there, in front of the roaring hearth, with a mug of proper Irish tea between my hands, and then you want to show me your shed, (the one you used when things got too close and hard and fierce) and the pub where all your friends that stayed behind still drink their pints. You want to take me home, to give me the heartland, to give me emerald green and cragged black and a grey, vivid Atlantic ocean. But most of all: you want to give me you. With every fiber and core, with every thought and emotion and image, with every complexity and fearlessness and lack of armor. But, you're too late my darlin'.

We were always a little too late.

The Saw Doctors – Clare Island